


Rookie

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crying, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/F, Hate Sex, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, shamir is very very mean but in the fun way, to a certain extent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: Shamir decides to knock Catherine down a peg. Her methods...leave much to be desired.
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Rookie

**Author's Note:**

> well it's been a whole year since my last cathmir so let's do another one, except even more morally bankrupt.

Shamir hated rookie knights.

They were either overexcitable or too shy. They either ran into battle and got themselves killed or hung back and didn’t do any work. They either asked too many questions or too little. Shamir preferred working on her own altogether, but if she had to pick someone to work with, it would be anyone but a rookie.

But she’d also take any other rookie over Catherine.

Catherine was overexcitable. Catherine ran into fights without a second thought. Catherine yapped at Shamir twenty-four-seven, whether she was asking a question or not. Worst of all, she seemed to be aware that Shamir found her annoying, but just didn’t _care._

“Go away,” Shamir would say.

“You’re as prickly as ever, huh? You can’t get rid of me that easy,” Catherine would respond—or something along those lines. Shamir usually walked away too quickly to hear the rest.

Shamir would never wish harm on anyone that hadn’t directly opposed her, but in the back of her mind, she was hoping something would humble Catherine, or at least shut her up. Maybe a close call on the battlefield, or a stern talking-to from the archbishop. Catherine was a seasoned swordswoman, as much as Shamir hated to admit it, so the former wasn’t likely, but the latter would probably get the job done—but Rhea seemed to favor Catherine, anyway.

_Looks like I’ll have to shut her up myself._

* * *

Shamir had to find a new drinking spot. Catherine had found hers.

Shamir rarely drank, really, but she liked the feeling of being buzzed as much as anyone else. “Anyone else” seemed to include Catherine, since Shamir had overheard her talking to the knights about how drunk she’d gotten on more than one occasion, but Shamir had never seen her at a tavern until then.

“Hey, Shamir! Funny seeing you here,” Catherine had said, and sat next to Shamir without a second thought.

“‘Funny’ isn’t exactly the word for it.” 

The liquor loosened her up a bit, allowed her to be more irrational, but it also made Catherine all the more annoying. She just wanted the girl to show a little modesty, stop being so full of herself. Catherine was easily embarrassed, despite her arrogance, so maybe Shamir just had to tap into that a bit. She looked prideful, too; perhaps associating Shamir with something embarrassing would finally make her leave Shamir alone. Shamir’s main goal was to knock her down a peg, though, and she was sure she could accomplish that one way or another.

“Y’know, we get along really well,” Catherine was saying. She had been talking and drinking for an hour by then, and was swaying in her seat. Shamir tuned in just in time to grimace. “We should be partners!”

“The Knights of Seiros don’t typically partner off,” Shamir reminded her, despite it being essentially useless to do so.

“Well, yeah, but...” Catherine was making puppy-dog eyes of the most pitiful sort. “It wouldn’t hurt anyone. We’d just pair up on missions, and help each other train, and have each other’s backs on the battlefield! And you could stand to be a little kinder to me, too, but I’m willing to take you as you are.”

“What an honor.” Shamir prepared to decline, straightforward as always, but looking at Catherine’s cutesy pleading face moving into a shit-eating grin made her impulse control crumble. “Well, I’ve got a high standard for partners.”

Catherine laughed sharply, slapping the counter of the bar. “I’m pretty good at meeting high standards—or blowing them out of the water. So, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Little did Catherine know, Shamir’s real standard for a partner was far higher than anyone could have ever met. Shamir had had a partner before, and those shoes were quite hard to fill...but for right then, Shamir was fine with pretending. “Really? You’re going to have to really prove yourself to me, being a rookie, and all.”

“Like I said, I can do whatever you need me to do. Trust me.” Catherine was starting to look a little offended, as if the very idea of her disappointing Shamir was an insult. “Say the word.”

_That’s pretty dangerous for you to say._ Shamir watched Catherine’s face, thinking about how far she wanted to go. She couldn’t ask for something that Catherine would actually do, since that would defeat the purpose. She wanted Catherine to be mortified. A little scared. Humiliated, even.

Yeah. Humiliated.

“Okay. Take your shirt off.”

“...Huh?”

“I think you heard me. Or, did you? Can’t hold your liquor?”

“No, I can—” Catherine chuckled a little, but it was clear that she was nervous. “I can definitely hold my liquor. But, um...”

“You’re not quite meeting standards right now.”

“What the hell does me taking my shirt off have to do with being your partner? Stop pulling my leg,” Catherine said. She sipped out of her mug, perhaps trying to calm herself down.

It was just as Shamir thought: she was all talk. Hopefully, that was enough to at least put her off. Shamir finished, “Alright. Seems like you _won’t_ do anything I tell you to. I thought as much. Now, why don’t you go finish your drink elsewhere?”

“Wait. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

_What._ “What?”

“If that’s what it takes...” Shamir watched in confusion as Catherine pulled her cotton shirt over her head, balling it up and leaving it on the counter of the bar. The barkeep turned around for a minute, but turned back to the keg he was facing almost right away. Shamir, on the other hand, was giving Catherine a good look; she was wearing a chest wrap so she could fit properly in her armor, but the rest of her physique was just as nice to look at. “So? Partner?”

“I wasn’t done,” Shamir said, before she could stop herself.

Catherine balked, but tried as hard as she could not to show it. “Alright. What else?”

Shamir swallowed. Was she drunk enough for this? Was she cruel enough for this? At least one of those had to be true. “Take your pants off. And...” Shamir nodded at an unoccupied table near the center of the bar. “And get up there.”

“This is...Shamir, don’t you think this is a little too much?”

“If you want to back out, then just say so.” 

They both recoiled at the sound of Shamir’s voice. She was a little more...forceful than she had intended. After all, the point was that Catherine wasn’t _supposed_ to do what Shamir asked her to, right? So, if she did, then that should have been bad.

So, why didn’t Shamir stop Catherine when she stood from her chair and kicked her boots off? Why didn’t she stop Catherine when she pulled her pants down, took them off, put them on the bar counter next to her pants, and hopped up on the table? Why didn’t she steer off all of the people in the tavern who were staring at Catherine, in her underwear and nothing else?

Shamir was starting to think she didn’t _want_ Catherine to stop.

Most of all, she was impressed by Catherine’s compliance, despite her feelings towards what she was doing. It would have been different, if Catherine was fine with showing off like that—and her personality briefly led Shamir to believe that she was—but Catherine looked _horrified._ She had her arms folded around herself, trying to look confident but clearly covering herself up; her cheeks were rosy; she kept looking around at all of the people who were looking at her, at anyone but Shamir.

Why the fuck was she letting Shamir do this?

It should have stopped there. Shamir had clearly already accomplished whatever she had set out to do. Catherine had complied, but she was still so humiliated, a different look from the arrogant showboat Shamir had seen just a couple of minutes earlier. Catherine would probably never talk to her again after they left, and that was just what Shamir wanted, so...she definitely could have stopped there.

But she didn’t.

She approached the table, ignoring the murmurs of the customers around her, and pushed Catherine onto her back, arms on either side of Catherine’s head. Catherine didn’t make a sound, but the shock on her face was evident. There were a few cheers, some whistles, some laughs. Shamir didn’t care, she wasn’t thinking about anything else, she was thinking about the dumb knight beneath her that was either really drunk, really horny, or really desperate to please Shamir for a reason that wasn’t clear.

Shamir stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. She decided on, “You still planning on meeting my expectations, _partner_? Blowing them out of the water?”

“People can see us,” Catherine said, and Shamir had never heard her sounding panicky before, but she sounded _really_ panicky. It was a nice change, Shamir thought. “You know that, right?”

“Yes. I know. But you said you’d do anything, right? You can’t walk your talk?”

“I can! I can, I just...”

Gods, she still wasn’t giving up? It pissed Shamir off a little, but it made her even more excited, too—now she had even more reason to push Catherine even more. “Then take your underwear off.”

Catherine shut her eyes for a second, took a deep breath, then did as she was told. Shamir was watching her face rather than her legs, her eyes on Catherine’s quivering lips, and she only knew Catherine’s underwear was off because of the soft sound of them hitting the floor. “Alright,” Catherine said, shaking.

“Are you really going to let me fuck you? While everyone’s watching?” Those words sounded so raw coming off of Shamir’s lips. It was that very moment that she realized how turned on she was, too, the sensation slightly numbed by the liquor but just as pleasant. “They all know you’re a knight, too, since you were bragging so loudly.”

That seemed to frighten Catherine a bit, and she squirmed against the table. She should’ve been afraid, really; Shamir too. Rhea definitely wouldn’t be pleased if word got back that two of her knights were fucking in public, but...Shamir would deal with it later. It was already too late, anyway, so why not go all the way?

After a minute of nothing but the wolf whistles and cheers of the patrons, Shamir said, “Answer me. Are you going to let me fuck you here?”

“If that’s—” Catherine’s eyes darted over to the small crowd that had gathered around them. “If that’s what you want.”

Typical rookie. Bold and brave until they roll over and show their stomachs.

Catherine’s body was loose when Shamir moved her legs, pulling them over her shoulders. Was the liquor making her complacent, or had she fully given herself over to Shamir? It seemed to be the latter, since she was already wet when Shamir’s tongue hit her. Catherine’s hand flew down to Shamir’s head, not quite pulling her closer and not quite pushing her away. The cheers were even louder by then, but Catherine’s thighs were on either side of Shamir’s head, and she couldn’t hear them clearly. Catherine’s moans, though...she heard those quite well.

Shamir was too tipsy to say for sure whether she’d imagined this before, or if she’d wanted things to end this way all along. But the _taste_ of Catherine, musky and sweet and the faintest trace of sweat, made Shamir wonder if anything before that even mattered. Catherine was there for her right then, pliant and horny and utterly embarrassed. Every time Shamir glanced up at her, Catherine was either covering her face with her hands or nervously staring at the people around them with a distant gaze.

Catherine grew even louder when Shamir began to lick at her clit, her cries soaring above the clamor of the bargoers. Shamir still wasn’t focused on them, not caring who saw her head between Catherine’s legs; they were serving their purpose by making Catherine so self-conscious, but outside of that, Shamir hardly acknowledged them. They were a means to an end.

And what a beautiful end it was. The swaggering Thunder Catherine was brought down onto her back like a common slut, from the mere suggestion that she might back down from a challenge. She tasted even better on Shamir’s tongue like that, something that Shamir would call the taste of defeat if she were a little more poetic. But to her, it was just the taste of a silly rookie, of a woman, maybe even a _girl_ with how childish and frightened she was acting.

She had reacted so wonderfully to Shamir’s tongue, giving the bargoers a show; Shamir wondered what would happen if she added her fingers, too, and decided to find out.

Shamir almost remarked on how easily her fingers slipped inside of Catherine, but kept her mouth occupied with Catherine’s clit. Besides, as always, Catherine was speaking enough for the both of them. Two long fingers, hooked just so, had Catherine stuttering out Shamir’s name in a voice no one had ever heard before. Shamir thought it was a nice change from the flirtatious, overly-friendly voice Catherine normally used to call out to her.

But then again, Catherine normally wasn’t _begging_ Shamir for something so pitifully. “Shamir, please—could you—”

Shamir let Catherine’s clit out of her mouth with a “pop”, then said, “Is that what you call begging? You have to do a little better than that. What do you want?”

“I want it, I want you to...” As if Shamir didn’t already know that. It was pretty clear from the very beginning that Catherine wanted it. “But there’s so many people watching, and—could we go somewhere else?”

“Why bother? They’ve already seen you. They already know what you really are.”

Shamir nearly said it, they know you’re a _slut,_ a _whore,_ but a small sniffle from above her stopped her in her tracks. Lifting herself up, her fingers still fucking Catherine all the while, she saw that the poor rookie beneath her was crying.

_Crying._ Goddess, Shamir couldn’t believe her eyes.

Catherine was looking off to the side, staring at a wooden panel of the bar counter instead of Shamir’s face or any of the people watching her writhe on the table. But looking away, or even closing her eyes, couldn’t hide the fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

Shamir leaned over Catherine, not wanting anyone else to hear her words. “Look at you,” Shamir hissed, detached as ever. Despite the steadiness of her voice, though, she was falling apart inside, trying to stop herself from breaking down and reaching a hand inside her own pants. No, that would take the attention off of Catherine. She wanted all eyes to be on Catherine. “You seemed so confident not even an hour ago—and now you’re crying, letting me finger you on a bar table? What’s the matter? Not as brave as you make yourself out to be?”

“No, I-I am,” Catherine insisted, but her words had little weight when she was crying and sniffling like she was. 

Being as honest as ever with herself, Shamir realized that she may have abandoned her mission. She certainly desired to see Catherine being humiliated, but it was no longer appealing for Catherine to break down and admit how weak she was; instead, Shamir liked to see her argue, to gloat and hold onto her pride, just so Shamir could tear at her again.

She was done with talking. She kissed Catherine, hard, still tasting the beer on her mouth. Catherine was still moving a little slow, but she quickly caught on, kissing Shamir back and trying to match her pace. Shamir broke it seconds later so that the moan that Catherine let out when she slid a third finger in could be heard by everyone in the tavern. Shamir wanted to unwrap her breasts, to expose those too, but she kept her focus on Catherine’s flushed, teary face instead.

“You look a lot better like this,” Shamir breathed. She was totally showing her hand, letting Catherine know how turned on she was, but it didn’t really matter. Catherine had shown through and through that she was much weaker than Shamir; why would Shamir care if Catherine knew how her body had responded? “Much better when you’re not bragging or flirting...”

Catherine couldn’t find words to disagree. There was no point, anyway; she might have already accepted Shamir’s domination of her, if the growing heat of her cunt was any indication. Shamir allowed her to cover her mouth with her hand as her moans grew louder, uncharacteristically feminine and feeble. 

Shamir had never imagined she’d watch a climax rolling over her so-called partner’s face, but it also seemed like everything she could have asked for. Catherine seemed to be fighting back against her own body, trying to deny the pleasure, but ultimately giving into it under the pressure of the watchers around her—including Shamir. Perhaps that was who she wanted to please the most. That thought was enough to leave Shamir satisfied, briefly curbing her desire to get herself off to the sight of Catherine’s sweet torment.

Feeling as if she were riding the high herself, Shamir watched Catherine shake and twitch, head tossed back against the table. Shamir’s breathing was labored, and it evened out as Catherine’s did, both of them going a little slack as Catherine’s orgasm passed.

Catherine’s fingers curled into a weak fist across her face. She looked up at Shamir with wet but defiant eyes, as if daring Shamir to do it again. As much as Shamir would have loved to, she wasn’t sure Catherine could take it. More than that, some of the crowd was starting to wander away now that Catherine had settled down, and the novelty of the setting was beginning to wear off.

“Not bad, rookie,” Shamir said, unable to stop a smile from spreading on her face.

“...We should get back to the monastery.”

Catherine sounded different, but Shamir couldn’t quite place how, or even why. Was it the liquor, or her nerves, or her post-orgasm jitters...? Well, it didn’t matter. 

Shamir had accomplished her mission, as always.

* * *

Early the next afternoon, they were embarking on a scouting mission with one other knight, of slightly higher status than Catherine. Shamir outranked them both by seniority, which would have made the trip a pain any other time, but she was curious to see how Catherine would react to her. It almost concerned her that the blabbermouth Thunder Catherine hadn’t come to her room to complain about what had happened at the bar, or ask for another round in that bold way of hers, or anything at all—Shamir had hardly seen her.

Shamir approached their departure point, noticing Catherine almost immediately. She was talking to the knight they were leaving with, and she had Thunderbrand in her hand, gesturing to it as she spoke. The knight seemed awed by her, nodding slowly as she smirked and grinned and chuckled.

Shamir sighed. Of course, she was gloating again. Was everything that happened in the bar just a fever dream?

“Good afternoon,” Shamir greeted.

They both seemed startled by her appearance; she was used to that, due to purposefully having little presence. What she _wasn’t_ used to was Catherine not jumping on her, jostling her around, asking stupid questions and telling even stupider jokes. She wasn’t used to Catherine standing there like a petrified rabbit, staring at Shamir with her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Good day, Shamir,” the knight greeted, saluting her.

“Y-yeah. Hey.” Catherine waved weakly, and...wow, Shamir had never seen Catherine so bashful. It was...it was maybe cuter than it should have been.

“I’m curious. What were you two discussing when I approached?”

The knight quickly jumped in, despite Catherine looking like she wished he hadn’t. “Catherine was telling me some of her battle stories! She’s pretty impressive. I’m honestly thrilled I got the chance to meet her, after hearing so much about her! Let her tell it, she’s one of the strongest knights we’ve got. Isn’t that right, Catherine?”

“Well, uh...” Catherine scratched the back of her neck, scoffed a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Say, are we ready to go, or...?”

Shamir smiled; both at the knight’s confusion at Catherine’s lukewarm response, and at the humble expression on Catherine’s face. “Yes. Quite ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [follow me on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/cathrheas)


End file.
